Demon Slayer Oneshots

Gyomei x 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙚𝙛?Reader

Dopamine

Terminology: 

*Pretend you're in your 20's???

                       - Think of the word Cosacks as a modern-day bullet, but it's not- because this ain't Modern Au. Yes, I did use Cosack, as in the Russian Cossacks, for a bullet instead of people.

It took you time to register where you were. To catch your memory up once your life flashed between your eyes.

You remember you running, your hands gripping your leather satchel as if it were your holy grail.  You were on the outskirts of a portside town, and you had to get further away if you didn't want to get caught.

Every few minutes, you'd check your satchel to see if your item was there. I mean, it would be funny if a thief stole from a thief, right?

But you didn't call yourself a thief. You were more dignified. Thieves would steal for themselves. You didn't steal items or lives for you, you'd steal it because someone ordered you to. 

So technically, you lived an honest life. You'd complete your job and your client would pay you. Simple as that.

However, this job was hard. No point in sugarcoating it, you were expected to steal a crown for a secret adventurer- or at least that's what he called himself- in 3 days, but the crown was quite literally in the hand of a fat sleeping man.

It was disgusting trying to pry his sweaty fingers from his death grip on the crown. Luckily, you got the crown while he was sleeping, but exiting out was a completely different story. 

Which explains why you were running away from him and whichever Minutemen he called out to while he was saddeling his horse. You would've gotten away with it too, if one of those militians didn't aim for your feet. Midway to the mountains nearby, which you were hoping to loose them there, you felta sharp sting graze your right foot and you harshly fell over. 

When you crashed onto the ground, you practically felt your adrenaline kick in. You couldn't get caught.

 Before you knew it, the pain in your foot was gone and you started sprinting to a busy road, or anywhere you could hide.

You hopped onto a wagon and ducked behind the large bales of hay and other miscellenous items. 

You checked your satchel again, making sure the crown was still there, exhaling slowly only when you saw it. You looked at your foot and struggled to oppress the feeling of throwing up since your wound was spilling blood and patches of dirt were sprikled near the cut. 

When the driver finally looked back to see you, you knew you had to leave even though you were in no position to run. You didn't know where you were, you were wounded and loosing blood, and you were sure part of the reason you passed out in an unknown location was purely just because of exhaustion. 

It took you time to register where you were. Your head throbbed and even the action of focusing on an object hurt your eyes. 

You sat up and immedately fel back onto the comfortable bed. You rubbed your temples as you took a breath and looked around. You were in a dull brown room that contained nothing more than a bed with two nightstands surrounding it, and a closet off the your right. 

This time, you got up more cautiously. It was when you stood on both feet did you feel that sharp pain from the Cosack and finally remember the crown; however, your foot did look much better in terms of injury. A bandage was wrapped near your ankle and there wasn't a spot of blood anywhere else.